


Crash & Stellar

by blipblorpsnork



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Autistic Character, Drunk Kissing, M/M, More characters to be added as needed, Partying, This one is gonna hurt, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, Vignettes, Weed Usage, big old eyes emoji, copious amounts of 420, drug mention, drunk panic, oof im sorry my tags are lacking today, unrequited feelings, unrequited shrimpshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 13:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blipblorpsnork/pseuds/blipblorpsnork
Summary: Weevil Underwood is 16, studious, and comes from a well-do-to bloodline. Rex Raptor is 17, and a complete fuck-up from a poor background. The two are uncanny friends, carrying their rival-slash-companionship from Duelist Kingdom through primary school to the current. Weevil is content being friends--most days, if even that much--and nothing more. He has never even considered Rex as anything more than a friend and oftentimes a nuisance. Rex has been pining for the bug loving egomaniac for some time and is finally acting on his whims. But between his disastrous nature and Weevil's acerbic ways, Rex keeps pushing him further and further away, and if he isn't careful, there won't be any going back.





	Crash & Stellar

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for non-consensual touching.

_August 28_

Party music screamed loudly out of shitty speakers with too much bass and the treble cranked too high; the noise rattled people’s chests, the walls, and windows alike. It drowned out any attempts at conversation, not that people didn’t still shout into one another’s ears over the cacophony of bad EDM and an easy hundred voices. The main room the party was being held in—the one with the speakers, the drink and snack table, and way too many young bodies milling around and dancing together—was packed, sweaty, humid, and hazy from smoke stemming from various sources. It smelled like alcohol, cheap colognes and perfumes, and weed.

Weevil was ready to have a fit right then and there in the middle of the dance floor. Or along the outskirts of it since he wasn’t actually _on_ the dance floor, but that didn’t matter. He hated parties enough as it was; he hated people in god damn general. If he hadn’t been all but forcibly dragged here he never would have showed up to begin with. And now he was trapped, surrounded by people he couldn’t stand in an environment that spiked his anxiety sky high, because his ride home was busy chugging beers like a fucking moron near one of the pong tables. Messily. And obnoxiously.

Sometimes he wondered why he kept Rex around or let himself be goaded and coerced into his harebrained schemes. Sure, Rex was one of the only people at Domino City High School that would so much as tolerate him. And sure, plenty of people were too afraid of him to be anything but deferential and polite in his presence which, frankly! Got very boring very quickly! But Rex was a whole other animal than he was, sometimes literally. He was loud and carefree, exulted in boisterous, high-energy spaces like parties and school jamborees, and generally loved to be the center of attention. Weevil himself was nearly a perfect foil to the man, the antithesis of his party-animal self, the misanthropic book-smart bully who hated everyone and it was fine because everyone hated him.

He was startled from his meandering thought process by someone jostling against his shoulder; he couldn’t hear their shouted apology over the noise but he didn’t care. The scathing glare he sent them was enough to have them rolling their eyes and working their way through the crowd toting their friend or new fling along by the hand. Plenty of people were laughing and giggling and shouting nearby, all so wrapped up in their own fun that they never noticed him standing around or even trying to squeeze his way through. 

His anxiety ratcheted up another rung on the fuck-this ladder as more people converged on the spot in which he stood—apparently they were clearing out a circle on the dance floor for some moron to try to snap a bone while doing what he likely thought was ‘break dancing’ when really it was more like drunken fish flailing. He shoved through the middle a group of friends all balancing shots off of their foreheads—some stupid drinking trick—and didn’t give two shits when two of the people lost their balance and got alcohol down their fronts. He didn’t care when they shouted after him angrily, didn’t care that the girl he practically shoved out of his way was so drunk she fell, he didn’t care, didn’t care, he could barely breathe—

“Rex!”

His voice came out as a squeaky croak, cracked and desperate for air. His chest was so tight he couldn’t think straight; it was physically painful to draw breath and it was making his head swim. There were far too many people here, most of them students he either didn’t recognize or had never seen at all. Of course the moron couldn’t hear him, not over the chorus of “Chug! Chug! Chug!” coming from the circle of teens surrounding him as he polished off what was probably his fourth beer in the last 15 minutes. He was suspiciously good at beer pong or whatever the fuck it was they were playing.

_Too loud, too many voices, too much noise, too much, too much, too fucking much…!_

“Rex!”

This time Weevil’s voice was far louder than the quavering adolescent whimper it had been previously, but it didn’t do him any good. He was drowned out by the raucous cheers that erupted as the brunette belched loudly and crushed the now empty can between the heels of his palms, grinning like he’d just won some shitty marathon all the while. By now every small sound was hurting Weevil’s ears, making him shake, and there was anything but small amounts of noise to be found in his immediate vicinity. There likely wasn’t a dark room or safe space within the entire house.

After what felt like an eon, Rex’s gaze swung around and found Weevil’s—hazy, red-ringed scleras, unfocused and without any cares in the world finding angry, cold sheets of defensive ice—and he grinned arrogantly, wading his way through his peers like Moses parting the damn Red Sea. No one got offended at his passing, people got out of his way with laughs and claps on the back; he was so far in his element he carried it on his skin like a fawned after medal.

Blazed out of his skull and hot-skinned, he clapped a hand on Weevil’s shoulder, oblivious to the way the latter nearly toppled at the contact. He had to lean in to be heard at all—his breath smelled like cheap beer and marijuana in excess.

“Hey man, how you enjoying the party?” he shouted directly into his companion’s ear, to Weevil’s severe dislike.

“I want to go home!”

“What? I can’t hear you man, you gotta speak up!” He was grinning like a complete buffoon, a total fucking moron, and incensed tears burned along the lower wet-line of Weevil’s dry eyes.

“I want! To go home!” His voice was shimmering as much as his pretty blues and the tightness started to spready out from the center of his chest and crawl up his throat. He felt like he was being constricted, wrapped around by a large snake or a larger dumbass who had no clue what he was doing or who he was hurting. Which was quite commonplace, he’d liked to have argued with the panicky sinking feeling in his gut, but he was too wrapped up in relearning how to breathe rather than suffocate.

“Hey come get a drink!” Whether Rex had heard him and was blowing him off (or perhaps was trying to alleviate his concerns in ill manner) or had mistaken his words, the mint haired youth had no clue. He didn’t care. He felt trapped and ignored. “C’mon I know someone who can hook you up with some relaxing stuff!”

“We’re sixteen!” came the snappish reply, as if this was news to either of the teens. “That’s underage drinking and _besides_! You were supposed to be driving me home later you moron!”

Rex just shook his head with another patent grin as he threw off the insult like he always did, messy brunette hair swinging across his shoulders. He brushed a clump behind one ear, cheeks red and eyes happier than they’d been in a while, and guilt pinged hard in Weevil’s chest. On a good day he would consider Rex a nuisance to anyone who asked, but the truth was that he cared about him, begrudgingly; the dunce was his best friend, and he had anything but an easy life at home. “No one here is gonna rat us out dude it’s fine!”

He started corralling him toward a darker room, barely recognizable as a kitchen with all the people packed into it, sitting on the counters and the center island and standing in the free space. Weevil was brought to an end of the expansive room with far fewer people—not that that was saying much—and instructed to _“stay there!”_ with a jovial smile while Rex fucked off to who knows where to presumably hunt someone down.

The music was much more muffled on this end of the house although still a loud and overbearing din, and while voices still had to be raised to be heard, it was nowhere near the amount of trouble as it was in the main living area. His senses started to calm down a small bit, just that small bit, and while he was anywhere from relaxed, he was at least less on-edge than he had been in the midst of it all.

High-pitched giggling caught Weevil’s ear coming from not too far behind him, and he turned toward the sound out of morbid curiosity. It had clearly been loud, or he wouldn’t have heard it at all, and he couldn’t help but wonder what heathen was making such a sound.

A small gaggle of about five girls was standing in a close-knit circle, all facing him and giggling behind their hands or drinks. The two that were closest to him were a pair he vaguely recognized from school—Hayashi something or other and… Minamino? Mitarashi? Whatever. The one had black hair always pulled into a high ponytail at the back of the crown of her head and big, big brown doe eyes that he found a little too “innocent,” and the other had mousy brown hair that was cut in a cutesy bob. They were always giggling and chittering away at the back of the class together; typical boy-obsessed teens.

Morons, all of them. No wonder he’d heard them over the cacophony; they were a _part_ of it.

He deigned to ignore them, rolling his eyes noticeably and half hoping they’d see him, then turned back to look toward the direction Rex had left in. He was nervous about being left alone in a place like this; he didn’t exactly know anyone else even if they were all their school peers. He had no other friends, barely considered Rex a friend at this point after the fucker up and left him like this; there was no conceivable way he could feel safe on his own. He was in a different part of town than where he lived and didn’t know how to get home; the walk alone would take ages anyways. They’d spent 20 minutes in Rex’s rusty, beat up pickup and it wasn’t like he’d memorized what streets they took.

He just wanted to leave. One of his feet was tapping out a discordant rhythm on its own. Arm crossed over his chest, shoulders and hips stiff as his jaw, he was an absolute picture of do-not-tread. Typically this would have awarded him his much-coveted isolation; people always got out of his way. He may have been shrimpy in his earlier youth and hadn’t grown many inches since then, or gained any mass for that matter, but he was nasty through to the core and most people knew it. Everyone gave him a wide enough berth for him to be comfortable because no one wanted to either incur his wrath or put up with his shit.

Some people, of course, didn’t care, or perhaps that was what drew them to him in the first place.

“Weevil~!”

One of the giggle-girls had broken off from her flock and made her way over to him. She called his name far too close to him for comfort, practically in his inner ear it felt like, and he startled hard, jumping and whipping around so fast he nearly knocked the red plastic drinking cup out of her hands. As he stammered something akin to an apology or a reprimand or both, really, she just laughed, waving him off after having caught the beverage and pulling a long drink from the cup.

It was the long-haired one of the group, Hayashi something-or-other. He didn’t know her given name and he couldn’t really be fucked to care. He was sure he had some class or another with her in it but also could not be fucked to care. He didn’t care about her, he didn’t care about her friends, and he sure as shit didn’t care about whatever was in that awful-smelling cup she’d almost spilled all over him (never mind that it was half his fault). All he cared about was getting the fuck home. After composing himself as best he was able, foot tapping rapidly and fingers drumming against his arm in both vexation and apprehension, he gave her a withering stare.

“What?”

She just laughed again, polishing off more of her drink casually. When she turned her head back to face him, her eyes were glossy and dull with the effects of alcohol, cheeks rosy and girlish under her subtle makeup. Before speaking again, she laid a too-warm hand on his arm and stroked it gently, humming as she did so.

“I don’t ever see you outside class,” she remarked, words turning up at the end in a way that suggested she was prompting an answer more than asking a question. Weevil couldn’t have explained how he could sense the difference, but he felt it and he didn’t like it. It just further seeded discomfort in his chest on a night he was already anxious enough to nearly start hyperventilating.

Shaking off her casual touch with an air of disgust, he took a half step back that was immediately countered by Hayashi. She seemed quite honed in on him, hand still contacting the long sleeve of his shirt but not quite gripping. “I don’t go to parties,” he explained lamely, eyes darting around and trying to do anything but maintain contact with her. He may not like people but he’d also never had a girl so much as touch him. Sixteen or not, he wasn’t blind. And he could quite confidently say he wasn’t gay either, thank you very much.

But he also was so unbelievably uncomfortable. His fingers drummed an erratic tune as he took another half step back, sealing the deal on a full step away from the girl, trying to think up some excuse to get her away from him, or get away from her himself. “I’m waiting on someone.” More lame sentences. More lame words. His cheeks were slowly going red as his heart hammered in his chest.

“Mm, looks like your friend might have left you~” Hers was a teasing tone full of guile and implication as the smile on her lips widened, and she leaned in toward him with a chuckle that sent pins up and down his spine. Having caught sight of the little scene, once of Hayashi’s friends broke away from the remaining group and stumbled over to them, clearly far more inebriated than her companion.

“Heyyy, Mika-channn, what are you and Weevil talking about?” she absolutely trilled, sing-song and out of tune. As she wobbled her way over to them she nearly fell, catching herself on Hayashi’s arm and giggling intensely even as her strong-smelling drink splashed out of her cup and onto the kitchen floor.

Hayashi laughed as well, hugging her friend around the waist and bringing her in closer and onto her feet. She steadied both of their drinks before giving Weevil a knowing look—what she knew, he had no clue, because he sure as hell didn’t—and tossing back the rest of her drink. “We were just talking about how Weevil is all alone at the party tonight,” she hummed, not even grimacing at the taste. Weevil’s nose curled at the smell alone, and while his nose was sensitive, he was certain he wouldn’t be alone. She was no one new to drinking, that much was clear. The thought onlyfurther increased his discomfort.

“Aww, no one wants to be alone at a party though!” the far-drunker girl nearly wailed, big crocodile tears welling up in her eyes as her bottom lip quivered a little too convincingly. Wow she was fucking trashed. She sniffled mightily, lurching toward Weevil a little bit and grabbing at his arms with both of her hands, likely in a soothing (?) gesture as well as to keep herself from face-planting into his chest or the floor between them. “Don’t worry Weevweev we’re gonna keep you company okay?!”

He cringed heavily at the unsolicited nickname—seriously how much had she drunk because god—and gently but firmly removed her hands from his arms. Steadying her from going down by holding onto her wrists as she giggled and said something else brainless to him, he turned to Hayashi and sneered. “I think your friend needs to be cut off,” he snapped, struggling a bit to keep the damn girl contained. She was trying to lean into him, mouth done up in a mockery of a kissy face. Talk about fish lips! As soon as he noticed it his cheeks went back to blazing red once more, something that seemed to only make the two girls laugh even harder.

“Oh come on Weevil, don’t be such a downer.” Hayashi started in on him as she spoke, the audacious saunter she took up swaying her hips noticeably. He tried and failed to ignore it, gaze snapping to the other girl as she stumbled and nearly took him down with her. “Mari just likes to have fun at parties! It’s that right Mari-chan?”

Mari laughed openly at this, brows slicing downward as she grinned deviously. “Who doesn’t like fun parties?” she slurred, grinning wider. “Yo’look like you’ve had… Lots’f fun at parties before Weevweev~” Her tone was insinuatory at best, and downright salacious at worst.

Taken aback, Weevil’s bright blue eyes widened a bit in shock. She couldn’t possibly be talking about fooling around drunkenly at parties, could she? Not to mention, how on earth could _he_ look like someone who was prone to being sexually adventurous, let alone at an exceedingly uncomfortable public venue?! He made to take a step back to get away from the girl but she only stepped forward with him, laughing raucously at the way she stumbled and bumped into him anyways.

“I’m not like that,” he hastily shot out at them both, looking to his left to seek out Hayashi and feeling a frantic pang when he couldn’t see her. He startled when a pair of arms wrapped around his chest from behind, making a squeaking noise of fright at the feeling of a soft chest pressing into his back.

“What are you—?!”

“Are you telling Mari-chan you don’t like her?” Hayashi’s hot breath tickled over his ear and sent more shivers down his spine of a completely different variety. His own face was hot with embarrassment by now and in the cavity of his ribs his heart beat out a jackhammer’s tune. He had no means of escape by simply turning and leaving like he’d been about to—Hayashi had made sure to cut him off. And the way she was leaning into him, hollow of her hips against his rear, hands flat against his chest, was positively, scandalously compromising and doing more than just rattling his composure.

As he tried to process all of this, Mari pouted and let some more crocodile tears fill in along her wet-line. “Why would you be so mean to me?” she wailed, leaning in and catching herself against him both drunkenly and calculatedly. The mint-haired man was starting to panic. Mari had in fact been one of the girls who’d caught his eye in the past—purely in an aesthetic sort of way. She was mousey and cute and a bit easy on the eyes but she was bubbly and loud and fucking obnoxious. He had had no reason to be outright rude to her in the past but this wasn’t something he wanted either! He was caught between the pair and not in any way he was interested in, and felt like he was slowly being forced into a dangerous situation after having been left to fend for himself, anxiety and all. Where the fuck was Rex?!

“I never said—”

“So you _do_ like me!” Mari’s little grin was devious. She spared a brown glance over Weevil’s shoulder at Hayashi, whose chin was resting on his shoulder far too familiarly before locking her too-sharp-to-be-that-trashed gaze onto him once more. “Sooo, if you like me~ Why not just give in and kiss me?”

He froze on the spot. He’d never kissed someone before. Hell, he hadn’t even held hands with a girl for fuck’s sake. But this was far and beyond anything unlike what he had hoped his first encounter would be like. It was being cornered into something he didn’t consent to, and his anxiety began to pick up once again. Prickles of goosebumps ran up and down his arms as alarms started shrieking in his skull. “No, I—”

She wasn’t letting him get a word in and bowled right through his words like they meant nothing. It would come as no surprise to him that they factually did not mean a thing to her. “Have you even ever kissed a girl before Weevweev?” she coyly drawled, leaning in too close too fast. The sharp stench of vodka and fruity mixers hit his nostrils and made his eyes water almost immediately. So she really was that trashed. Shit. Fuck. _Shit._

“No and I don’t want to right now!” The words came out in a rush, a burst of air expelling from his chest as he tried to force his side of the conversation through. “You’re drunk and I’m not interested!” He let the panic drill a fine crsytal edge into his words, hoping it would be enough to deter her.

“Aww you’re no fun!” The voice came from next to his ear once more and Hayashi straightened, still maintaining her proximity so he couldn’t easily pivot and escape. “We just want to have a little fun with a cute guy, is that so wrong?” She sounded sincerely cross, like him turning her down had pissed her off and offended her. He could swear he even felt the jostle of a little foot stomp to punctuate her sentence.

“It’s wrong when someone doesn’t fucking agree!” he snapped back, grabbing Mari’s wrists once more and this time holding on tightly. He tried to push her back without hurting her, maneuvering her away from him, but she was shockingly steadfast and stronger than she looked. She stood her ground with drunken ease, eyes hard and jaw set stubbornly. She didn’t try to wrench her wrists away from him and instead used them to slump forward more, grinning when her small chest met his own flat ribcage.

The need to flee flooded his synapses. He felt trapped, _was_ trapped damn it, and it wasn’t like he was known for his physical strength. If someone wanted to overpower him and beat his ass it wasn’t a far stretch to do so; his abrasive nature kept him far safer than any scant musculature he possessed, as he had previously observed within the safety of his own head. He likely couldn’t get out of this situation even if he struggled, but something tight in his chest was keeping him from calling out for help. He felt strangled and cut off mentally as much as physically, and as panic began to settle over him like a heavy, wet sheet, all manner of sense began to leave him with it and it was all he could do to maintain his ground; escape was far away and fading fast, it seemed.

He had to just make a move. Even if he ended up hurting himself or one of the girls and got shit for it, he _had_ to get himself out of this situation. He was shaking, would be shaking much harder if he wasn’t painted into a corner, heart going a million miles an hour, palms sweating, vision weird around the edges. But just as he was about to make his move to enact escape, the hands previously against the flat of his torso moved too quickly for him to react and snatched the glasses off his face.

“_What the fuck_!”

The exclamation was barely out when a booze-tasting mouth was suddenly on his own. Too-near-sighted eyes widened in horror and he struggled _hard_ to push the slighter girl off and away from himself but as he did Hayashi wound her arms back around him, pinning his own to his sides. The small crowd in the kitchen had thinned out, everyone wandering off to other friends or leaving because a scene was in the process of being made; no one was left to help him who wasn’t so inebriated that they didn’t even notice the nonconsensual scene unfolding right in front of them.

As he struggled and fought, Mari forced her tongue into his mouth. It was sour, rank with alcohol and whatever else she’d imbibed throughout the evening. Frustrated, humiliated tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes; he’d always been an easy crier but this was causing so much distress, it was so much so _much_ and then the seemingly-unthinkable happened and all sense of reality left him.

The mousey girl let one of her hands wander down to the hem of his cargo shorts and then lower still, palming his ass unabashedly. The disgusted shock that ran through his system was nothing compared to the shock that coursed him when her other hand found the front of his groin. She cupped against him, fingers groping and violating, and squeezed, maybe harder than she intended to but it didn’t matter. It hurt and felt horrible and he was being openly publicly violated and the noise that wrangled itself out of his throat was something between a terrified whimper and a shriek.

Then the girls were laughing, a grating, awful sound that felt far eviler and more malicious than it probably even was. Two drunk fucking girls just looking for some fun, disregarding boundaries and bodily autonomy alike. They both stepped away from him nearly simultaneously, both stumbling and having a grand old drunken time. Hayashi let Weevil’s glasses slip through her fingers without a thought and they hit the floor, one lens crunching lightly under her foot as she left the scene of their crime.

Weevil was struck immobile, horror and disgust running its course heavily through his veins. He was on the verge of hyperventilating. Tears were beginning to slip from his lower eyelids down onto the too-hot expanse of his otherwise feelingless cheeks.

He stooped, fumbling to pick up his glasses. The thin wire frames were distorted and one lens had a hefty crack in it. He twisted them back into place as best as he could, hands shaking horrendously, and slid them back onto his nose after scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He could still see through them, but there was a line through his vision that distorted everything around it. His glasses were likely unsalvageable and he would need a new pair. It only served to add further injury to what quickly had become a proverbial gaping wound.

More tears slithered down his cheeks and he scrubbed at them til they were chaffed and raw, eyes burning with an intense, hot anger mingled with something he was quick to hide—he didn’t want anyone to see him panicking and crumbling beneath his vitriolic façade, least of all the teen he was currently loathe to call a friend. Rex was coming back finally, two red plastic cups in hand, and when he jovially handed Weevil his cup with some half-assed explanation about how he’d run into some buddies on the way, Weevil ignored him and downed a few gulps of whatever it was. The regret was immediate as he sputtered and choked but he couldn’t care less that the clear liquid with the greenish tint felt like drinking fire. He had to get her taste out of his mouth. Had to get _her_ out of his mouth.

Rex, already crossfaded as fuck and in the process of going further down his own dumbass rabbit hole, was completely oblivious and mistook Weevil’s desperation for enthusiasm. “Awright, choke it down!” he congratulated? Encouraged? As he clapped a strong hand against the younger boy’s shoulder. It made him stumble and he almost began crying again, humiliation burning against his stinging face, but Rex never did catch on, did he?

“This is disgusting.” The bug lover could brush off the waver and strain in his voice as having to do with choking this swill down. “What the fuck are you making me drink?”

“I dunno what exactly’s in it but it’s got Absinthe to take down the burn,” Rex replied easily, nonchalant as if describing the piquant tang of an aged wine. (Take down the burn. What a laugh. This shit burned more than a campfire.) “It’s real strong so maybe sip the rest of it, ya don’t exactly drink as it is.”

Weevil regarded his only friend’s ear-to-ear grin and for a moment, caution became him and he gazed down into the awful-smelling and worse tasting liquid in his cup. Rex was right; he didn’t drink, and he knew Absinthe was always very strong. How strong he wasn’t sure but he’d heard it was usually upwards of 70% alcohol where most liquors started around 23-35%. And what was worse was the awful black-licorice flavor that came from the anise used to season it.

But then immediate memories of the girls’ assault came flooding back, the sting still too fresh and the threat too near, and caution melted from him like a sickly, sticky pool of plastic at the bottom of a cooking oven. He tossed the rest back, head back and eyes closed and nose scrunched against the taste and the burn, and he couldn’t help but cough and gag once more, hardly keeping the foul concoction down. And Rex was clearly concerned, but he himself was too far gone to be the voice of better judgement or of any sort of reason at all and thanks largely in part to that, he laughed and watched and soothed his friend when he looked ready to be sick and that, for his part, was that.

The night went on, in a fashion. The next person who walked by with an extra drink offered it to Rex—he was well known in many of these circles as a complete party animal, so why wouldn’t they—and instead Weevil snatched it and downed that one too. The Absinthe concoction had yet to go to his head—unbeknown to him it had nothing to do with his tolerance of alcohol or anything even remotely similar, but the way in which it tends to metabolize.

Forty minutes later he would have been regretting his decision to down a cup of unknown substance-plus-Absinthe plus an entire cup of sickly-sweet vanilla vodka—the strong kind, he had been assured, fuck this entire party—if he had been entirely cognizant enough to do so.

It had hit him all at once and at first it had been like all his fears and anxieties had been lifted. He’d gotten quite rowdy at one point, dancing with an equally off the hinges Rex, perhaps a little more closely than he would have under any under circumstances. The streaming service the hosts had been playing the music through had switched into gradually slower music at one point, but his memories got too hazy and too fuzzy around that point, and finally blacked out.

Now he was leaning over a porcelain toilet in a dim bathroom, vomiting what felt like all his insides out. Tears were still pouring down his face from a very-sudden-onset anxiety attack he’d begun to have before having a complete breakdown in the way only blackout drunks can. He’d been hysterical, completely inconsolable—thankfully for him, he and Rex had moved to a quieter room at the time, which perhaps allowed his brain to start devolving in the first place. There hadn’t really been anyone there to see him flip out and break down, or he’d have been the laughing stock of their shared high school the next week and then some.

And really it could have been anything that had set him off. Too much booze in too short of a time span; too many sounds and too many sensory inputs and then suddenly none at all; but likely it had been the way Rex had tried to kiss him, gently and not too pushy but firm and confident in the way he did all things in life. He was only lucky Weevil would not remember it come morning.

All he could do for now was hold Weevil’s glasses and rub his back, his own high and drunken state coming down until he was feeling atrociously sober. And when the time came, he could carefully drive the horribly upset teen back to his cramped house and sneak him in past his often-drunk mother where they could crash in his messy bedroom and he wouldn’t have to risk explaining to Weevil’s uptight parents why their son was shitfaced and sobbing in his best friend’s arms.

He only hoped he wouldn’t remember it come morning. Any of it. But especially not whatever had pushed him so far over that precarious, steep edge.

If only he had known why.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!! Love love LOVE you and thanks SO much for getting this far!! Okay so I know I said I'd be working on posting once a week and I SWEAR I'm still working on that! Things just kinda keep getting crazier at home lmao. BUT!!! I finally have some REALLY good things happening in the next few months, so hopefully things will begin to settle into a more manageable schedule soon! For now I'm gonna try to settle for once every other week if I can to get myself into the groove uwu
> 
> This piece was totally supposed to be a like 1500-word vignette and yet here I am with the beginning of another chaptered series. Good god Kas get your shit together. But I'm REALLY proud of how this one turned out so it's all good!! :D As always, if you'd like to support my writing drop by my Ko-Fi and leave me a tip! This helps me so SO much to be able to keep writing, and will also help me make money doing something I love since I'm unable to in conventional ways! Love you all so much and I'll be sure to drop by again soon!


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